


and change, nobody mentioned how much it would hurt

by Jaybird_Wings



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Creeper Hybrid Sam | Awesamdude, Exile, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Niki | Nihachu and Toby Smith | Tubbo are Siblings, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Panic Attacks, Parental Sam | Awesamdude, Piglin Hybrid Wilbur Soot, Protective Cara | CaptainPuffy, Ram Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Sheep Hybrid Cara | CaptainPuffy, Therapist Cara | CaptainPuffy, Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), uhh listen almost everyone is a hybrid here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 02:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30115983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaybird_Wings/pseuds/Jaybird_Wings
Summary: In the Dream SMP, you adapt.In war, you adapt too. It comes hand in hand then, that change happens to you.Or, everyone's a hybrid. Except Tommy, who wants to look like Wilbur one day. Nothing really goes to plan.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 161





	and change, nobody mentioned how much it would hurt

The nature of hybrids doesn’t make sense. Wilbur, whose father was gifted with wings, inherited Techno’s pig features instead. Maybe it was because Wilbur spent more time with the piglin rather than his own father, but that was that.

  
No one is usually born with otherworldly traits. In the Dream SMP, you adapt.

In war, you adapt too. It comes hand in hand then, that change happens to you.

  
It was more common than not, that by the time you were an adult you weren’t the full human you were born as. But Tommy was still a kid, he’d adapt soon.  
  
Tommy wanted to be like Wilbur when he was younger. He looked up to the man and Technoblade was a renowned warrior. He still hopes to wake up one day and to look more boar-ish.

He always repeated, “I’m going to look like you one day.”

But like all things up to fate, one is not simply given what they want.  
His ears stayed rounded, nose flat, and feet un-hooved.

  
People changed all around him. Sapnap took on demon-like traits from Bad, Tubbo took on horns like Niki, and all the while Tommy remained plain.

It was frustrating to no end, he spent almost all his time with Wilbur, admired him to no end. And they called each other brother but they sure didn’t look like it. He just wanted to fit in for once.  
There was something deeply beautiful, about giving and receiving traits. Bad and Niki and Phil had all gotten theirs from someone or something before them, and when they were older Sapnap, Tubbo, and Wilbur would pass their own.

  
But Fundy never took on his father’s traits. Or his absent mother’s. 

No, in L’manberg while the cabinet decided war plans or treaties, Fundy ran with the foxes and followed them into the woods. And in the following months, he had fox ears and a tail.

It made the vicious part of him happy. If he didn’t get to look like Wilbur, neither did his own son.

Another, softer part of him did feel bad when Wilbur’s eyes crinkled sadly.  


It’s not like Tommy was the only human. There was George, Karl, and… well, Skeppy had diamonds in his skin and Eret had glowing eyes so what were they? Whatever, not plain like him.

There was Dream, as well. Even though he wore a mask, it wasn’t like he had any hybrid traits.  
  
Then there was Quackity, Sam, Schlatt, Puffy, Ranboo- all these new people to the server who were cool. Not that he’d admit it.

  
Quackity had wings like Phil. Tommy wouldn’t mind wings, like them. But Phil never lingered long and even though his blood son went to war, he never visited.

Whatever. Quackity and Jschlatt were bitches anyways.

And Jschlatt had his whole thing where he favored Tubbo and Niki, in his own vicious way, because they had horns. Maybe not as obnoxious as his, but they did. So he made Tubbo his right-hand man and put Niki to work in her bakery to bolster the economy. It ran them both ragged, but when do tyrants care?  


In the end, he’s not sure he’s happy he never ended up like Wilbur. 

Crazed and killed by his own family, holding the likeness of the man who set off Withers in their broken country.

  
He just knows he misses Wilbur. The good one, not the mean one or the ghost one.  


His thoughts fly all over the place. 

Maybe he should’ve helped out at the bakery more, gotten horns like Tubbo and Niki so they’d match. Maybe he should run with the wolves and get his adaption as Fundy did. Apparently, George is growing fucking mushrooms because he spends so much time relaxing or sleeping in glades. Of fucking course that’d how Gogy would change.  


It’s big news when Dream takes on Puffy’s horns and ears. Probably more, under his cloak and mask.

Tommy had heard the two were hanging out more, but he’s infuriated. Why does a grown man get to have cool horns and he just-  
He has friends and connections with people. Maybe it wasn’t enough. 

Maybe if Dream hadn’t stolen his discs he’d be like Skeppy or George and have his skin change to vinyl, have his mouth play music notes and melodies.

He’s bitter.

  
  
He just never expects to change like this.

  


Exile was hell. He was alone, with nothing.  
But Dream was there.  
  
He didn’t notice changing at first. He was busy trying to survive. Dream didn’t help, blowing up his shit. He was angry at the green bitch, angry at Tubbo, angry at Wilbur-

His brain was a mess. The war had ended, and something ended in Tommy with it. He couldn’t trust anybody, goddamnit Wilbur had been right. Dream was right.

He hated Dream, he really did. He promises he does, even now. Now more than ever. But then Dream would pat his head as Wilbur did and a grief-ridden part of his heart would melt.  
  
Exile was long. Long enough, at least. When he first notices the horns, he notices how they differ from Tubbo’s, Niki’s, and Schlatt’s. Tubbo and Niki’s were small, goat-like or something. Whereas Schlatt’s were long and spiraled out, making him look bigger and more frightening.

  
Dream horns curled back though, the ends visible through his hood. Along with them, it was visible his ears and hair had changed. Dream now had a mix of brown and silvery-white hair.  
It wasn’t so obvious, the white with pale blonde. His hair was too dirty most of the time to tell. But the horns had itched and hurt and bled and all the while, Dream comforted him. Changing is vulnerable, it’s why it’s meant to be with friends or family. Instead, the same man who’s burned his country and hurt him endlessly holds Tommy’s hand as he curls up in pain.

Dream congratulates him, he says, “You’re like me now.”

He was like Dream. That made Dream happy, and Tommy didn’t want to dissect how he felt. All his life he had prepared for tusks to grow in, but instead, he got horns. He had never really wanted horns.

But Dream was his friend. So, this was good.

Or not. It didn’t make sense.

  
No, he felt ashamed. Forever, he was going to look like Dream, because he was the one who stayed with him. Took his broken soul and watered body and reshaped him. And Tommy had let it.

He runs, then. For a long time, until the snow falls on his face and he’s trudging through it. He’s stupid, stupid for thinking Dream was his friend. And now, how much had he changed? How far had it gotten? Were his eyes still his, or would it just reflect the monster under the mask? He had wanted all his life to stop being a plain human and now he’s eating his own fucking words.  
  
Maybe if Wilbur hadn’t died, he’d be a piglin-hybrid. Like fucking Technoblade.

Maybe if Tubbo hadn’t exiled him he’d be a simple goat hybrid with unobtrusive horns. They grew in nicely, barely a hassle. Bigger horns, the type Jschlatt had, required blood and pain.  


Techno never mentioned the change. He never brought up the panic attacks or injuries either. Tommy liked the space, mentioning anything would have set him off like another fucking bomb.  
  
A part of him doesn’t want another person to lay eyes on him again. 

One look and everyone is going to know that of all people, Tommy was bound to Dream. Looked like brothers, almost, like he had once wished with Wilbur.

  
It made bile gather up in his throat and his hands shake.  
He wants to cut off his shitty horns. They’re heavy and make sleeping at night uncomfortable. If he tilts his head wrong they nip at his neck, too. And once he’s cleaned up and in new clothes, he can see others changed. His eyes are different. His pupils are rectangular, like Niki. Tubbo never actually changed enough to get them.

But it hurts, like actually a fuck ton, to try and break the horns. And the stupid loyal dog in his heart whines, because wasn’t Dream their friend? Wasn’t this a good thing?  


It’s easier, in the end, to pretend none of it is real. The power of denial and avoiding mirrors every chance he can get. Keep his hood up.  


When Doomsday crawls its ugly way in and violently out of their lives, he’s still got that ugly feeling in the pit of his stomach. People see him, and they know. They can tell he was a puppet in exile, and Dream held his strings. He left his own person and came back someone else’s.

  
And Tubbo apologizes, of course, he does. But he’s still friends with Niki, even if she’s avoiding Tommy. Niki is a good person to look like. Instead, he’s clawing at his horns and tugging at his hair until his scalp burns.

“Hey,” Tubbo suggests, “we both have horns now. That’s pretty cool, right?”  
  
It burns. He’s just a monster.  


He’s a monster and just a chess piece to Dream. There are the pawns, the rooks, the nights, but for some reason, he’s the king.  
They’re just lucky everyone came to save them. When he swings his ax down on Dream, he aims for the horns. He knows it hurts him, and they don’t grow back.

“We’re nothing like each other.” He sneers.

It’s a victory, in the end. He gets the discs back. The war is over. The evil is locked up.

  
So why doesn’t it feel over?  


He’s still anxious and stressed out all the time. His hands are ready to fight, not fix. He avoids most people, especially Tubbo, for the fact that he’s too much of a coward to take away his own horns.  
  
Is this what growing up is? Feeling scared and vulnerable the whole time? Being unable to sleep at night because of what haunts you?  
If Dream brought war, pain, and manipulation to the server, then 

Tommy just wants safety again. A home, like L’manberg, was supposed to be.  


Maybe a hotel isn’t a home, but it’s what Tommy can offer with his own two hands, and with the help of Sam it’ll be amazing. It has to be.  


He learns how cool creeper hybrids are. They’re hard to come by, seeing as creepers literally die and kill you as well if you’re too close to them. But Sam isn’t off-putting, the opposite of it. Even if Tommy can feel his skin burning whenever anyone looks at him (his horns) being with Sam doesn’t hurt as much. Maybe it’s just because they never knew each other well in the first place, but it’s nice.

Sam worries about him, which is nice. 

To an extent. 

He questions when was the last time he ate, slept, showered and he doesn’t like lying to the big man. So he starts taking better care of himself. Sam asks about how he feels but never pushes for details. 

Eventually, he’s able to respond with, “Feeling good today.”

He means it too.

  
Tommy knows what healing feels like, physical healing. He’s downed healing potions or wrapped bloody wounds. But this healing is different. It feels good, feels better than when regen potions are knitting skin back together.  


He doesn’t even know what sets off the panic attack. Maybe it’s because Sam wears green, maybe it’s because he had a nightmare last night about exile, maybe it’s because he just wishes people would stop staring at him-

But everything blurs. He can hear his breaths loudly, consuming anything else. He can’t tell much else besides that. The world has quieted on him and his arms and legs start to go numb on him. He wants to breathe, but his lungs have betrayed him too and have taken away his control.  
  
He comes to with Puffy rubbing a hand in circles on his back. It’s the most comforting thing someone has done for him in so long. She tells him how to breathe, and he follows until all feeling is back and he feels exhausted.

She says she has a therapy office. He says therapy is dumb. He still shows up the next day.

In-between building the hotel and avoiding Tubbo and any other person on the server, he visits her. He doesn’t like dissecting his emotions, it makes him feel bad. She says that’s a safety response from his brain because thinking about his trauma hurts him and he doesn’t want to hurt.

He recognizes he makes a bad patient. He never wants to talk or admit the full truth. She’s patient, though.

In one session, he makes an offhand remark about how he’s avoiding people, and she asks why.

“Because I look like fucking Dream’s property.” He gestures wildly to his changed appearance.

“You’re not Dream’s. You’re not an object to be owned, but you’re part of my flock. Not his, okay? He doesn’t have any say, because you don’t look like him. You look like me.” She decides.

  
He likes that narrative better, even if it’s a little untrue. Her natural hair is a dark brown that contrasts with silver, but he’s grown out his hair to so they wear matching braids with a rainbow cloth intertwined. She shows him how to take care of the horns he’s neglected, gives him a pair of sunglasses as she has. Mimicking her makes it easier to face the world again.

The thought makes him smile, he’s apart of Puffy’s flock.  
  
And these horns? They’re his.  


**Author's Note:**

> Like half the things I write, this was a spiral I wrote at 2am. All because I wanted to write Tommyinnit angst about vulnerability and change caused by the person who hurt him. And also Sam and Puffy being the comfort in hurt/comfort
> 
> And I promise I'm gonna get back to writing my other ongoing stuff, just had a little writer block and needed something new.


End file.
